A Camping We Will Go
by DinerGuy
Summary: In which Lassiter takes a forced vacation, Shawn tries his hand at jackal mode, and both find themselves in a potentially dangerous situation.
1. Chapter 1

_Birthday fic for my lovely Kkarrie._

_Disclaimer: Nothing Psych belongs to me and no copyright infringement is intended._

**wmwmw**

Carlton Lassiter grunted as he slammed the passenger door shut. He double-checked the door of the camper before heading back inside to grab his last duffel bag. After rechecking all the doors and windows and the gun in his bag, Lassiter headed back out to the rental truck parked in his driveway.

It was a bit of a sacrifice to leave his prized Crown Vic at home, but, much as it pained the detective to admit it, the smaller vehicle wouldn't be able to stand pulling the camper for very long. He had pulled his car as far up his driveway as possible for the week he planned to be away. He had also left instructions with his neighbors, in no uncertain terms, that it needed to be in the same condition when he returned as it was now.

According to Chief Vick, the head detective needed to take some of his unused vacation time that had been piling up. Not that Lassiter needed a vacation in the least, but an order was an order. Or, at least, a strong suggestion was strong enough for the detective to take the hint.

There were plenty of vacation options available in the immediate vicinity of Santa Barbara - most of which involved easy access to the police station in case of any forgotten items or other small - okay, relatively small - emergencies. However, Santa Barbara's residential pain-in-the-neck and the SBPD psychic consultant, Shawn Spencer, had volunteered more than his share of ideas for the head detective's "staycation," as Shawn was calling it, and Lassiter knew the man-child would find every opportunity to invade other people's privacy. Especially if Shawn knew how Lassiter planned to spend his vacation time, there would never be any peace and quiet until the detective went back to work - and maybe not even then.

The only solution to the problem was to go somewhere so isolated that Shawn Spencer would not be able to find him easily - and even if the psychic could, Lassiter's plan was to be far enough away so he couldn't be interrupted by anything. And he was doing just that. He had rented a truck and camper and planned out a roadtrip. He wasn't going anywhere specific, other than planning to hit up a few fishing spots he had heard were good, but he figured a long drive into nowhere would fill enough time that he could use a week of vacation and get back to putting criminals behind bars.

Turning the key in the ignition, Lassiter pulled onto the street and started on his week of forced time off.

**wmwmw**

He drove as long as his gas tank would allow but finally had to find an exit to pull off the interstate. Once he had refilled the truck's tank, he locked the doors and headed for the convenience store several yards past the pumps.

Several minutes later, he reemerged and got back on the road. As much as it pained him to admit that he may have been wrong, he was actually starting to enjoy this whole road trip thing. There was no annoying psychic in sight, and with the entire open road ahead of him, Lassiter was starting to understand how others could enjoy this. Not that being at the station wouldn't be a better use of his time, but if he had to be away, this was the way to do things.

Eventually, dusk was starting to descend, and Lassiter began looking for a motel or campsite in which to spend the night. A few miles down the highway, a sign displaying the available lodgings at the next exit was positioned, inviting weary travelers to stop for the evening. Lassiter took the correct exit and turned into an RV park. He registered and paid the required fees, then parked and unlocked the camper door. He would just hook everything up and then -

"Oh hi, Lassieface!" Shawn greeted from where he had his feet propped up on the small kitchenette table. Shawn had his earbuds in and his iPhone in hand, and several empty chip bags and soda cans were scattered around the other man's seat. "Are we there yet?"

Lassiter crossed his arms in disbelief and annoyance. "Spencer, get your feet off my table. And what in the name of Sweet Lady Justice are you doing in here anyway?" he demanded.

"I couldn't let you vacation all by yourself," Shawn told him, sitting up.

"You are the reason I'm taking this vacation in the first place," Lassiter snapped.

Shawn blinked innocently at him. "Well that's good to know! Though you could have told me you felt that way before I hitched a ride in here. I could have spent the day keeping you company in the cab."

"No, Spencer." Lassiter was using the same tone one might use in discussing something with a small child. "The last thing I need to be doing on this trip is baby-sitting you."

Shawn scrunched up his nose. "Why would you need to do that? I'm just here to keep you company on your trip." As Lassiter crossed his arms, Shawn added, "Well okay. Gus is away on some boring business trip, so I had to find something fun to do."

"And stowing away in my camper was your recreational choice?"

Shawn nodded furiously. "It sure beats spending my days alone in the Psych office. You wouldn't want me to be lonely and bored for an entire week, would you?" he pouted.

Lassiter rolled his eyes. "I really don't care how you spend your days, Spencer, so long as you don't involve me."

"Well," Shawn shrugged, "I'm sorry you feel that way. But look on the bright side! We're so far from Santa Barbara that you get to keep me until you go back! Won't this be great? You and me, the open road, endless possibilities …"

"Spencer!" Lassiter interrupted the other man. "I don't care if we're on the opposite side of the United States. The next town we get to with a bus station, you are going back to Santa Barbara."

"That's going to be a long bus ride."

Lassiter shook his head. "It'll give you time to think of how to spend your week without Guster." He crossed to a cabinet and pulled out a pillow and blanket. "You can sleep on the couch."

Shawn frowned. "So harsh."

"Be thankful I'm even letting you sleep in here. I could just as well kick you out and let you find your way home alone."

"You wouldn't do that, Lassie," Shawn pouted, giving his best puppy dog impression. "You love me too much."

"Want to bet?" Lassiter muttered.

"Fine, fine." Shawn was grinning as he changed subjects. "So, what's for dinner?"


	2. Chapter 2

"Are you sure you want to do this?" Shawn asked, fishing around in the paper bag on his lap.

Lassiter glared at him for a moment, then turned his attention back to the road. "Yes. And I told you, no eating in here. This is a rental and it needs to stay in perfect condition."

"Now you sound like Gus when I eat powdered donuts in the Blueberry," Shawn groused, slouching back in the passenger seat. He did close the bag, however, seemingly taking the death threat in Lassiter's voice somewhat-seriously for once. "I still think you're making a mistake, Lassieface. Why take a vacation on your own anyway? It's absolutely no fun."

"It's much more enjoyable than having you tag along for the next week," the other man snapped.

The sign for an upcoming exit came into view, and Lassiter flicked on the turn signal. He pulled into the right lane and slowed to make the turn.

"Huh," Shawn said, looking out the window. "Welcome to Mayberry."

Lassiter just grunted. "They have a bus station. That's the only thing that really matters."

"Well, that and the fact that they have food," Shawn pointed. "Let's get lunch first."

"It's only 10:30 in the morning, Spencer."

"True. But that's close enough to 11:00, which is very close to 12:00," Shawn reasoned. "And it's never too early to eat."

Lassiter rolled his eyes. However, the fuel gauge was blinking near empty and he had to admit his own stomach was beginning to beg for nourishment - though he'd never actually admit that to Spencer. "Fine. I'll let you out and go fill up the truck."

"Great!" Shawn was already halfway out the door before Lassiter braked to a halt. "I'll order you something."

"No!" Lassiter cleared his throat. "I'll be by in a few minutes and take care of my own order." The last thing he needed was to let Spencer order his food. There was no telling what the man would order for him - or put in his order once it arrived for that matter.

"Okay, okay." Shawn slammed the door behind him and hurried off.

Lassiter pulled into the gas station beside the diner and switched off the ignition. As he was waiting on the gas tank to finish filling up, he glanced around, his training as a cop causing him to keep a careful eye on his surroundings. As he did so, a figure crossing the road caught his attention.

The man, who was of average height, appeared to be in his late twenties or early thirties, was clad in baggy jeans and an old sweatshirt, and didn't appear to have shaved in at least several weeks; his dark beard matched his shaggy haircut. But it wasn't the man's unkempt appearance that drew the detective's attention. It was the suspicious bulge in the kangaroo pocket of the man's sweatshirt.

Lassiter's eyes narrowed as he watched the front door of the diner into which Spencer had disappeared not long before. It could be that the man had a concealed carry permit and just wanted a bite to eat, but something about him didn't sit right with Lassiter. His gut feeling was usually right in cases like this one, so Lassiter quickly shut off the pump, checked the clip of the revolver in his shoulder holster, and headed towards the diner the scraggly character had entered just a moment before.

**WMWMWMWMWMWMWMW**

The restaurant's interior was small but cheerily decorated. The black and white-tiled floor was shiny and clean, and the tables were all covered by bright red and white-checked cloths. Half a dozen patrons were seated at various tables around the room, while Shawn occupied one of the black stools at the counter. A middle-aged waitress was busily pouring coffee for the seated patrons and the young woman behind the counter was fiddling with the cash register.

As the door opened, Shawn turned to casually take in the newcomer, who had his hand in the pocket of his sweatshirt. The psychic's eyebrow rose slightly, but before he could say anything, the man pulled out a handgun and fired it in the air.

There were screams and a sudden scrambling as the patrons and both waitresses dove under various tables and the counter. Shawn, who had nowhere to duck out of the way, raised his hands as the man turned the gun towards him.

"What are you looking at?" the man snapped.

Before Shawn could respond, the bell to the door jangled and Lassiter rushed in with his own gun drawn. The gunman reacted quickly, yanking Shawn to his feet and ducking behind the psychic.

"One more step and he gets it!" The handgun was at Shawn's head, pressing into his temple.

"Whoa, hey!" Shawn exclaimed in surprise, grabbing at the arm that was around his throat, trying to clear a little space to allow himself to breathe.

Lassiter halted but kept his weapon pointed at the man. "Drop the gun!" he ordered.

"You drop yours!" the young man countered.

"All right; just calm down," Lassiter said, lowering his gun slightly while still keeping a firm grip on it. He glanced at the diner's frightened occupants huddled under the various tables. "Why don't we just let everyone else out and talk about this?"

The man chewed his bottom lip then shook his head. "No. No! I … I … I need leverage for when the cops get here."

"He is a detective," Shawn offered, having finally managed to catch his breath. "So technically the cops are already here."

Lassiter shot Shawn a dark look. "Holding hostages isn't going to do anything for you," he told the gunman. "It'll help your case a lot more if you let them go."

"You sure about that?" The man didn't look convinced.

"He's always sure," Shawn spoke up, nodding along with the detective then making a face when Lassiter glared at him again.

The man's brow furrowed. "You two have a problem I should know about?"

"No," Shawn and Lassiter replied at the same time.

"We don't," Lassiter clarified.

"It really depends on who you ask," Shawn told him. "My dad would say we do, but then he would say I have a problem with -"

"Spencer!"

"Well, I'm sorry, Lassieface, but you know my dad. He would totally agree with - What's your name?" he asked the gunman, shifting slightly to look over his shoulder. "Because I'm partial to Frank, but you know, you look like you could be a John as well."

"What?" The man shot Lassiter a confused look. "My name is Hector."

"Hector?" Shawn repeated. "Wow. I never would have taken you as a Hector. Maybe a -"

Hector tightened his grip around Shawn's neck. "Just shut up a second, would you?"

Just then, sirens reached the ears of those inside the diner. Shawn could feel Hector stiffen against him, and the man's grip on both Shawn and the gun tightened.

"Who called the cops?" he demanded, nearly shouting.

Shawn blinked. "Do you mind not yelling in my ear, dude? And do you really expect that no one would have called the police after hearing a gunshot from in here?" He felt Hector shift as the other man shrugged. "Exactly." Lassiter was glaring at him again, but Shawn ignored the detective and continued. "You do realize that you'll just be in more trouble if you keep this standoff going?"

"No one's going to listen to me otherwise!"

One of the customers under a table shifted, knocking against the furniture and causing the table to rock slightly. Hector jumped at the noise, spinning to aim his gun towards it, and Shawn grabbed at the man's arm as it again began constricting his airway.

Seeing his opening, Lassiter took it.

The echo of the gunshot and Hector's cry of pain reverberated off the walls as the man's gun dropped out of his hand. He loosed his grip on Shawn to grab at his wounded shoulder.

"Spencer, are you all right?" Lassiter demanded, striding over to kick the downed gunman's weapon to the side while keeping his own gun pointed at the man.

"My favorite shirt!"

"Well don't get yourself held hostage and you won't have to worry about that again," Lassiter snapped. "Besides, you've had that shirt for at least four years."

"Apple Jacks are a classic, Lassieface!" Shawn defended his clothing. "Aren't they?" he appealed to the frightened diners who were now getting to their feet.

A few gave him a confused look, but most just ignored him. A moment later, two uniformed officers ran through the door, guns drawn. The new arrivals looked between the man on the floor and Lassiter, attempting to gather what was going on.

"Drop the gun!" the first ordered, aiming his gun at Lassiter.

"I am Head Detective Carlton Lassiter with the Santa Barbara Police Department," Lassiter told them as he lowered his gun to his side.

"You have some identification?" the officer asked. "Slowly!" he added as Lassiter reached into his pocket.

"See?" Shawn said as the man studied Lassiter's credentials. "Now can we go? I really need to try and rinse out this shirt before it's completely lost."

"I think you're already past that point," Lassiter told him. "Besides, you're catching the next bus home, remember?"

"I remember that's what you told me I was doing," Shawn countered. "But I don't recall agreeing to it."

"Thank you, Detective," the officer interrupted. "We'll need to get statements from both of you."

"Of course," Lassiter replied.

"Does this mean I don't have to catch the bus home?" Shawn spoke up. "And can I get someone to wash out my shirt first?"


End file.
